


Lost and Gone Forever

by MaxWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Mindfuck, Non Consensual, PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:49:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many were lost in the war, even some of those who managed to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Gone Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [HP Darkfest](http://hp_darkfest.livejournal.com) '09.

"You know, I don't _have_ to go, George."

George frowned with impatience as he watched Fred pull his cardigan on over his t-shirt. "Well, one of us has to, and I'm needed at the shop."

"Yes, but I mean … You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean, and no, that's not an option."

Fred huffed. "It's not like he'll remember if you don't show."

"Fred, for god's sake –"

"Fine, fine, I'm going. Sheesh."

"Hang on. Don't you think you should bring him something?"

"I'm bringing him _me_. That oughta be enough, shouldn't it?"

George gave him a withering look.

"George, quit fretting and go if you're going. You're the one who keeps insisting you've gotta get back to the shop before Verity fucks up your precious product display that no one else knows how to set up properly apart from you."

"Okay." George was about to turn away, but he paused, eyes lingering on Fred for a moment.

Fred canted his head impatiently. "What? I won't cock it up this time, I promise."

"No, it's not that. I trust you, Fred, I know you've got this."

"What's that look on your face, then?"

"Just … thank you."

"Bah!" Fred waved a hand at him and looked away. "Stop it."

"No, I'm serious. You don't have to do this. It was my mistake, I'm the one who –"

"Stop it," Fred repeated more firmly, turning a fierce glare on George before he could finish his sentence. "We don't have to go through this again. Certainly not here." Fred glanced around St. Mungo's main floor as staff and visitors hurried past them in all directions. "I know this is important to you, so … I'm happy to do it."

George gave him a wane smile. "No, you're not."

"Yeah, you're right; I'm not. So hurry the hell up and get going before I change my mind again."

The twins parted ways, George heading back to the shop, Fred heading up to the 4th floor of the hospital. He stepped off the lift and turned left, avoiding people's eyes as he went down the corridor, though he did keep an eye out for familiar blond heads floating about. He was hardly in the mood to run into the parents.

Sounds of the long-term care ward drifted across the floor to meet his ears; the hum of chatter from the staff underlaid the sharper, wilder sounds of some of the patients. Some were talking too loudly, some were giggling maniacally, and at least one was simply screaming, an ear-splitting scream that lasted about three seconds at a time every couple of seconds. It was like some kind of bizarre alarm going off. Fred shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were balled up into fists. The ward seemed particularly chaotic today and he disliked the place in the best of times.

He arrived at the room and peered inside, doing a quick scan; no one in sight except the patient, who was sitting on the edge of his bed wearing jeans and a faded orange t-shirt, his back to the door, his face turned toward the window. Fred stepped quietly in and made his presence known with a light throat-clearing.

Draco glanced over his shoulder in one quick jerk of a movement and his face lit up. He hopped down off the bed and came quickly around it to greet Fred, his face beaming. Even when he was happy, the evidence of his daily struggles were apparent. It was clear from the dark circles around his eyes that he didn't sleep well and his eyes had a frantic, almost frightened-animal look to them. There was an alertness about him that ironically often came with lack of sleep, a sort of twitchy unrest. On top of that, he'd let his hair grow long enough to hide his eyes when he wanted it to and he'd lost quite a bit of weight, making him look terribly frail. He was miles away from the cool, calm little twat Fred remembered from school.

"Hi," Draco said as he came and stopped right before Fred, hesitating for a moment, searching Fred's eyes. He did this every single time Fred visited, stopped in front of him and looked at him a little uncertainly, as though unsure who he was. Fred wondered if he did the same with George. When the uncertainty finally dissipated, Draco wrapped his arms around Fred's neck.

"So glad you're here," Draco whispered.

Fred embraced him. It still didn't feel natural, hugging Draco like this, didn't matter that Draco was different now.

"How are you?" he asked, rubbing Draco's back, feeling the bumpy trail of spine beneath the shirt. "Been all right?"

"Fine, George. Just fine. Better now."

It was always a little weird being referred to by his twin's name, but years of pranks and being mistaken for George by almost everyone had made Fred more accustomed to it than he otherwise would have been. He and Draco loosened their grips on each other and, with Draco beaming almost proudly, moved over to the two chairs situated by the window. His eyes scanned the room as they went; a fresh bouquet of blood roses had replaced the old ones since Fred had last been here. They were always from Draco's mother. She kept the room stocked with fresh flowers. He wondered how often she and her husband actually visited. He'd run into them here only once and the three of them hadn't said a word to each other, simply nodded at each other and gone their separate ways. The Malfoys had changed since the war. They still seemed sort of haughty, but all of their taunting cockiness was gone. They hadn't even bothered to ask Fred why he'd been exiting their son's private room. Perhaps they knew. Perhaps Draco had told them. Fred couldn't imagine that conversation had gone terribly well. In any case, the Malfoys had seemed uncomfortable and out of place on the 4th floor of St. Mungo's. Fred couldn't imagine them suffering this place too often, not even for Draco.

They sat facing each other and Draco leaned in toward Fred, elbows on his knees. Fred mimicked him; he was supposed to look as though he wanted to be there, after all.

"I've missed you," Draco said.

"I've only been gone a day," Fred said. He glanced down at Draco's hands and found them wringing themselves. Fred reached out with both hands to take them. Draco looked down and then sighed with embarrassment.

"I'm a wreck, aren't I?" he said with a nervous chuckle. "Dunno what my problem is."

"Still anxious?" Fred asked in his most soothing voice, caressing Draco's fidgeting hands.

"Yeah, a bit," Draco said, but he seemed to relax as he gazed into Fred's eyes, his own starting to look a little less scared, and even his hands stopped twitching. "Better now, though."

Fred smiled softly and nodded. "Well, good. Have you eaten yet? I was thinking if we can get permission, we could grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside on the grounds. Nice day for it. It's a bit … hectic in here today."

Draco was about to respond, but then stopped and flinched as someone entered the room. His face snapped around just as one of the staff came in, gave them a smile and began changing the bedsheets. Draco relaxed a bit and let out a shaky breath. Fred looked down at their hands; Draco's were clutching his so tightly that Draco's knuckles were ghostly white.

"Just housekeeping," Fred said with a smile.

"I know. I'm just …" Draco looked away from the young man changing his sheets and glanced out the window. "Been having nightmares again."

Fred tensed up all over. "Same as before?"

Draco nodded. "Damned if I have them, damned if I don't, it seems."

Fred narrowed his eyes at Draco's profile, canting his head slightly. "What's that mean?"

"I don't want to have them. They're horrible. The hands all over me, his weight on me, his voice in my ear. It's terrifying, but … when I don't have them, I feel like I'm forgetting. I don't want to forget, George." Draco looked at Fred again, his eyes calm and focused. Draco was almost always calm and focused when he talked about what had happened to him. The fidgeting stopped and he didn't look quite so much like a frightened animal. He looked almost like his old self, like the cocky little shit Fred remembered. He looked sure and confident and determined. He looked at Fred as though he _remembered_. There wasn't much in the world that scared Fred, but he was scared by this. Every time.

"Why wouldn't you want to forget that?" he asked, forcing himself to hold Draco's gaze.

"Because if I forget, it'll be like he's won, like he got away with it. As long as I remember, even if I don't know who he is, there's evidence of what he did, there's a _record_ , George. No matter how fractured the memory is, no matter how damaged, the fact is someone remembers what he's done."

Fred tried to look sympathetic, stroking Draco's hands and nodding. "Do you talk about it much? In your therapy sessions."

"Yes. My counsellor says it's healthy, that I should try to remember." Draco's intense gaze finally broke as he smiled sadly. "Too bad talking about it makes me want to curl up in a ball and scream." He glanced down and shook his head, a hint of his smile still lingering on his lips. They were both silent for a while, and Fred realised this was the perfect opportunity to change the subject. He'd done it before. He'd thwarted plenty of opportunities for Draco to remember, to talk things out, to heal. He'd never claimed to be a wonderful person, but it made him feel like shit, anyway.

Something kept him silent this time. He could have said any number of things to get Draco onto something else, but he kept quiet, watching Draco, wondering what he was going to say next.

"I've never really talked about it with you," Draco said. "What happened to me." Draco look at him from beneath his lashes. "I wouldn't want to burden you with it."

"No, hey," Fred said, sliding further forward in his seat until their knees touched. "'S what I'm here for, innit? You can tell me anything."

Another sad little smile crossed Draco's face as he looked down again. "I don't think you know what you're asking for."

"Hey." Fred leaned in more and hunched over, trying to catch Draco's eye. "I'm here for you. Okay? Why else would I be here all the time?"

Draco studied him for a moment, then seemed to relax a bit, nodding. "You're a good man, George. I'm lucky to have you."

Guilt knotted up in Fred's chest. He squeezed Draco's hands as though trying to squeeze the knot loose. "Well, I care about you, so … Is it something you'd want to discuss with me? I mean, are you ready?"

Draco glanced around the room; the staff person had since departed, leaving them alone. He looked at Fred again, gave him a single nod and whispered, "I'm ready."

 

* * *

The nightmares are always the same, and yet always different. Sometimes Draco can hear his attacker's voice, but it's like hearing it through water; he can't quite get a grasp on the way the voice sounds beyond that it's a deep male voice. It's like his attacker is playing with him, even in his dreams, giving Draco a clue as to his identity, but not quite.

He can never see anything except flashes of distant light here and there. Other than that it's mostly black. At first there's nothing but the blackness pushing in on his eyes as he lies there on his front, unable to move. But then there are the footsteps and then the hands reaching underneath him, getting his jeans unfastened and roughly pulling them and his pants down.

Sometimes he can hear the sounds of his own screams, sometimes he can't, but he can always feel the rawness in his throat from the way those screams tear their way out of him. And always there is the almost soothing stroke of a hand on the back of his neck, sometimes accompanied by murmuring that he can't quite make out. The tone of the voice is soft, almost like cooing, but it can't possibly be that. Taunting, he has to remind himself. It's probably taunting.

He prefers it when he can't hear anything, especially his own voice. Because then he can't hear himself begging. A little part of him is angered by the begging, ashamed, indignant. Some part of him thinks he should be above such weak displays, even during a violation like this. He wishes all sensation could be turned off somehow too. The hands are the worst, feeling all over, up and down his back, cupping his arse almost appreciatively, like a lover might, which just makes him want to wretch every time he thinks about it. Those hands reach underneath him and play with his cock as though his attacker wants him to enjoy this. Then there are fingers inside him and then … there's something else inside him.

The girth that forces its way in isn't even the worst part. Almost, but not quite. It's not even his attacker's hot breath and moist lips on his neck, or the man's wet tongue on his ear, and it's not even the distorted voice telling him that he should stop pretending he doesn't like it. It's his own body, the feeling of it betraying him, responding favourably to what's happening to it. The sensitive little gland inside him sings with pleasure each time it gets nudged. His nipples are rigid, prickling with pleasure. His cock is big and full underneath him, leaking onto the floor. Shame flares up inside him as his attacker confirms that he knows Draco is hard. He says that Draco ought be thanking him for finally giving Draco what he needs, for being generous enough to do this even though Draco's fucked-up fucking family completely ruined his life.

Well, at least Draco knows a bit about why this is happening to him; revenge, though he has no idea what his attacker is talking about. He gets a sense, an inkling, that he knew at the time, while it was happening. But the details have long since degraded, his mind wiped clean of anything helpful.

Draco wants to vomit when he thinks about the way it felt when his attacker came inside him, like having pure poison poured into his body. He shouldn't be thankful that the evidence was magically removed afterwards, but part of him is happy it wasn't left there to seep further into him. Draco only wishes it could have been left at that, but his attacker had to drive home his point, had to roll Draco over and force Draco's body to show the ultimate display of pleasure, making Draco come all over himself. That little angry part inside Draco rages when he remembers this.

But what is most frustrating about those final few moments are his attacker's face, or the lack thereof. Draco should be able to see him at least once, in his periphery at least, when he is turned onto his back. But it's all a blur, flashes of colours blooming in the dark and then dissolving before anything can come into focus.

And through it all there is George, his face continually swimming into Draco's mind, giving him something pleasant and beautiful and calming to focus on while his entire world gets ripped to shreds.

 

* * *

Fred slid down off his chair, onto his knees at Draco's feet, and shook him, calling his name. Draco had slipped away into his own private hell as he'd verbalised the images in his head. He was now hunched over, his head between his knees, his body gently rocking.

"Draco. Draco, it's George. It's me, I'm here. Look at me. It's over. It's not really happening, just open your eyes."

The rocking slowed and then stopped, and Draco cautiously raised his head. The terrified animal look had returned and when he focused on Fred, his lower lids brimmed with liquid and his bottom lip began to tremble. He slid down off his chair too and into Fred's arms, his breathing ragged.

There was a long stretch during which Draco just sobbed, and then another one during which neither of them made a sound. Fred didn't dare speak, choosing to wait for Draco to do so.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Draco said.

"I've told you a million times not to apologise."

"I know. I'm sorry for that too."

Fred sighed. "It's okay … Draco? Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think you keep seeing my face in those dreams?"

Draco was quiet for a moment and then replied, "I think I focus on you because you keep me from breaking apart. It's like a defence mechanism or something, like my mind is trying to retreat."

Fred supposed that made sense. And as long as Draco believed it, everything would be fine.

Draco finally sat up, sniffled a bit and smiled sheepishly. "So, there it is, then. Now you know."

"Has it helped? Telling me about it."

Draco shrugged. "Dunno. Too soon to tell." He let out a bitter little laugh and shook his head. "It's been months. When's it going to stop being too damn soon?"

"Hey, come on, you've been through a lot. Give yourself time."

Draco hugged himself and pulled at the sleeves of his shirt. "Tired of waiting. You must be sick of it too."

"Don't be daft," Fred said with a frown. "Tired of waiting for what?"

"For me to be normal again, for us to be a real couple again. I mean … we haven't been able to … you know, for months now –"

"You think I'm worried about sex? While you're locked up in here trying to get better? Are you serious?"

Draco looked at him sadly. "It's important, George, don't tell me it isn't."

Fred sighed again. "Draco, let me ask you something. And it's only a question, it doesn't mean anything. What if we'd never actually had sex? What if the relationship you think we had before the incident isn't actually the way things were between us? What if, when you got Obliviated, something went wrong and your mind created this relationship because … I dunno, like you said, maybe because you were trying to escape what had happened to you? The spell obviously didn't quite work; there are still things you kind of remember, so …" Fred trailed off as Draco seemed to shrink, pulling his knees up to hug them, his breathing becoming a bit erratic.

"Why would you ask me that?" he whispered.

"No reason," Fred said quickly. "It's just that, well, you don't really know what's real except what people tell you. All you've got are these disjointed memories and … I'm just worried about people messing with you, that's all."

"Nobody's messing with me."

"But how do you know that?"

"Because there's nothing to mess with, George." Draco uncurled himself and turned his body toward Fred's again. He reached out, took Fred's hand and said, "You know what it's like everyday when I wake up? It's like waking up just after the assault happened. Every single time, day after day after day. The people I meet, the things I do, the progress I make, none of it sticks. Nothing. I don't remember my family, my friends, school, hardly any spells at all. The only things I remember are the rape and you. That's it. I remember us, I remember our relationship, I remember feeling your hands on me as vividly as I remember feeling … _his_." Draco frowned and fidgeted as he said this. "I remember the last thing we did together before the assault. I remember sitting in a Muggle pub with you, days after the war, drinking, talking, crying. That was when you told me Fred hadn't made it. I remember the look on your face, the blankness in your eyes, the flatness in your voice. George …" Draco trailed off, glancing down, shaking his head, his eyes filled with sadness. He took a breath, composed himself and looked at Fred again. "Those two things are the only things that feel real to me anymore; you and him. So, let people mess with me if they want. Won't make any difference. I wake up and the slate's been wiped clean again."

"Okay, but what if your memory is faulty?"

"What, like what if the rape didn't actually happen?"

"Well, yeah, that. Or the other thing. You and me."

Draco blinked at him and cocked his head. "Do you want to leave me?"

"No, no, no, that's not what I'm saying." Fred felt like a prat, but he knew Draco wouldn't remember this conversation tomorrow anyway. "I'm just curious about what's going on in your head."

Draco swallowed hard and lowered his gaze. "If it turned out that you and I had never been real …" He met Fred's eyes again, and that unsettling clarity was back, sharp and bright like light glinting off a knife blade. "I'd have to die," he said in a whisper.

Fred said nothing, only stared. He knew Draco was serious and he had no idea what to say.

"I can't remember anything else apart from you and him. So, if I lose the only good thing I have … what will I have left?"

Fred did as he was supposed to and put his arms around Draco again, pulling him close. "Well, you won't be getting rid of me quite so easy," he said, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice was heavy with the seriousness of Draco's words.

Draco cuddled against him, nudging his face into Fred's neck. Draco didn't seem to be troubled the way Fred was, once again calm and sure, confident in what he knew to be his truth, meanwhile his truth was completely messing with Fred's head.

And Draco picked the most bizarre times to try to get over his issues with sex. Fred felt Draco start to nuzzle him, something Draco did from time to time, trying to force himself to face the physical side of what he believed to be their relationship. Fred kept telling him there was no need, and there wasn't; Fred wasn't interested in sex with Draco. But it was a fine line between appearing supportive and appearing completely uninterested in sex, and Fred had no idea how well he was treading it.

He shut his eyes and let Draco kiss his neck. Draco's kisses were soft, tentative and uncertain, his breathing shaky. He slipped his hand up onto Fred's neck to caress it, and deepened his kisses, letting his tongue touch Fred's skin, his lips sucking a bit. Fred couldn't lie; it felt good, and his own breaths were beginning to reflect that. What if Draco could do it this time? What if he could go all the way this time? Fred had no idea if he should let that happen.

"You don't have to do this," Fred whispered.

"Shh," Draco hushed him, and he stopped kissing Fred's neck and moved up to his mouth, latching on hastily as though trying to outrun his own fear. It was the deepest kiss they'd shared so far, and surprisingly it didn't feel completely strange. Fred actually found it easy to kiss back, to open his mouth and suck Draco's tongue. He was shocked to hear his own voice moaning softly into Draco's mouth, shocked to feel his own body responding, stiffening in his jeans. He felt his hands caressing the bare skin of Draco's back and wondered when he'd slipped his hands underneath Draco's shirt. He felt Draco's body gently writhing as though trying to get closer to him. Fred helped him out by pulling him snugly against himself.

"Mmph," Draco grunted, suddenly pulling his mouth away and trying to push Fred off of him, his entire body filling with panic. "I can't, I can't, I can't, George, please …"

Fred let him go, watched him slide away and curled up again. Draco lowered his head to his knees and Fred could hear him breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. Fred shifted a bit and pulled his shirt down over his crotch.

"It's okay," he said, reaching out to rub Draco's back, but then thought better of it and retracted his hand before touching him.

"I'm sorry," Draco said breathlessly into his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Draco, honestly. It's not a big deal." Fred was a little relieved, actually, no matter how eager his body was.

Draco finally raised his head. His eyes were watery and he sniffled. "Whenever I … get hard, it's like I'm back there with him, getting hard when I don't want to." He looked at Fred sadly. "I just … I'm sorry."

"Hey, stop it. I'm fine."

"You can be with other people, you know."

"Draco –"

"I don't expect you to wait around for me to get my shit together."

"Draco, please. I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to _try_ to keep me, okay? I'm here and I'm not leaving."

Draco sniffled again and nodded. He was quiet for a moment, then glanced at Fred and asked, "What was it you said about lunch?"

Fred managed a smile. "Outside. Want to? I can go ask permission."

"Sure."

Before Fred could get up, Draco slid close again, leaned against him and reached up to touch his face, looking right into his eyes as though searching for something. Fred tried not to show how much this unnerved him. He wondered what Draco was thinking, if he could tell that Fred wasn't George. No one else could ever tell, even their own mother had trouble telling them apart at times, but something in Draco's eyes made Fred wonder. And worry.

A soft smile touched Draco's lips and he whispered, "I'm glad it's you today."

Fred stiffened all over. "What?"

"It's silly, really. It's just that I'm never quite sure who you're going to be when you walk through the door. Sometimes … you're different."

Fred gulped. "No, I'm not. It's always me."

"No, I know it's you, it's just … I like you like this. There's less pity in your eyes, less guilt. You're stronger, it seems. Makes me feel less afraid."

Draco's fingertips traversed the contours of Fred's face, and he looked peaceful and terribly in love as his eyes did the same. Fred felt all kinds of things, none of which he was comfortable with. He wasn't supposed to want to be with Draco, he wasn't supposed to feel protective or affectionate. He wasn't supposed to get hard for him. He wasn't supposed to reach up and take Draco's hand because he wanted to kiss it, and he definitely wasn't supposed to initiate kisses. He leaned in and caught Draco's lips with his own, held them for several chaste seconds before Draco pulled away, pressing his forehead to Fred's instead.

"I'm sorry," Fred whispered.

"It's okay. That was nice."

"I'm not trying to push you."

"It's okay, George."

Hearing George's name made Fred open his eyes and raise his head. He forced a little smile, told Draco he'd be back in a minute and helped him back up into his chair. He gave Draco a final kiss and glanced down as their lips parted, his eyes landing squarely on Draco's crotch where an erection was evident. Draco followed his gaze and then smiled sheepishly at him.

"Still feels weird," Draco said. "But it's getting easier." He looked right into Fred's eyes as he said, "Soon. I promise. I do want it, you know. Don't think I don't."

Fred didn't want to be excited about the promise, but he was. Fuck, he wanted it too.

Fred left the room to find someone to ask about eating outside. He moved past rooms that he tried not to look into, sounds of sobbing, giggling and screaming rising up to fill him with the same tension he'd had when he'd first arrived. He approached the front desk where staff were sitting shuffling sheets of parchment or bustling about, checking inboxes and schedules. One of the seated nurses looked up at Fred and smiled, recognition flashing in her eyes. He recognised her too; he hadn't seen her in a while.

"You're back," she said cheerfully.

"Yep. Here almost everyday."

"Well, that's sweet of you. I think I saw your twin earlier, downstairs."

"Yeah, he came down with me, but had to head back to work."

"I see. You're … Fred, right?"

Fred stiffened with nerves, but tried to stay casual as he shook his head. "George, actually."

"Ah, shoot," the nurse said with a chuckle. "Thought for sure I'd got it right, this time."

"Fred never visits Draco, if that makes it easier."

The nurse stopped smiling and nodded sombrely. "Oh, that's right. He still thinks Fred is dead, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. Keep trying to tell him that he's not, but you know how it is; nothing sticks."

"Such a shame, what happened to him. Assaulted like that and then losing nearly all of his memory on top of it."

"Yeah. Listen, I was wondering, would it be all right if we grabbed some food and ate outside today?"

The nurse smiled again, looking at Fred with adoring eyes. "You're a good boyfriend, you know, love. Whenever he talks about you, his whole face lights up and sometimes it's almost like he's completely healed. Damn lucky you're one of the few things he remembers from before, damn, damn lucky."

Fred fidgeted and averted his eyes. "Yeah."

 

* * *

Fred found George down in the cellar when he returned to the shop. George was searching through a large wooden crate as Fred descended the stairs. George heard him coming and glanced up.

"Hey, Fred. Do you know what happened down here? Half of these crates aren't labelled anymore."

"Er, yeah, I might've accidentally spilled a bottle of erasing powder down here yesterday. The resulting dust cloud must've wiped out some of the labels."

"Great," George sighed as he straightened up and glanced around with a furrowed brow. "How was your visit?"

"Fine. Mostly the same." Fred took a seat on a crate and wrung his hands. "He tried to make out with me again."

"Oh. How far did he get?"

"Bit farther than last time. Farther than he's gotten with you too, I reckon."

George glanced off at nothing. "That's not good."

"No, it's not. I know they keep saying he can't make new memories, but I dunno about that."

George frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, think about it. He's trying harder each time he tries anything. He put his tongue in my mouth, George. He's never done that before. He says the slate's been wiped clean each day when he wakes up, but I don't think it is. If he's making more and more progress each time we visit, then some part of his brain is keeping score. It's like he can sense, at least subconsciously, that time is passing. Has he told you that you can see other people if you want? Because he told me that today. Never said that before, has he?"

George stared at him, his forehead creased with worry. "So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we really don't know if his memory is completely gone forever, do we? We don't know if he'll get better."

"He won't. There's no way to reverse what I did."

"You don't know that. He could heal, he could get better, and what happens when he remembers, George? What happens when he finally figures out that not only were you and he never a couple, but also that –"

"Fred, just calm down. Let's just think about this rationally for a minute."

"I _am_ thinking about it rationally."

"Just because he can supposedly form new memories, doesn't mean his old memory will come back."

Fred dropped his head into his hands. "Why did you do it, George?"

There was a pause, and then, "You know why."

"I know what you've told me," Fred said, looking at him again. "I'm still not entirely clear on it, to be honest."

George's jaw muscles twitched as he glanced away. "You're judging me."

"No, I'm just … This whole thing is kind of huge, and I'm helping cover it all up. I have a right to understand it, don't I?"

George snorted as though stifling a chuckle, but there was nothing cheerful about him. "You can't understand, Fred. I hope you never, ever can."

"What's that mean?"

"You know how sometimes we each have nightmares about waking up and finding that we were never twins? Like you wake up and I'm not there and no one but you remembers I ever existed and it's like I've died?" George met Fred's eyes again, and George's sad, haunted look made Fred's blood run cold. "That's what it was like for me, only it was worse because it was real and Mum was crying and no one was saying anything and every time anyone looked at me, you could just _see_ that extra bit of pity in their eyes, like I was suddenly an invalid or they feared I might lose my mind any minute. It was worse because I couldn't wake up." George sniffled and looked away again. "There's no way to describe it, Fred. You think you get it because you're a twin, but you have no idea, not until it's you who's left behind." A little droplet glided down George's cheek. He hastily brushed it away and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

The truth was Fred already knew what had happened that night. George had already told him. It was something Fred had to constantly try not to think about.

It had been days after the war and George hadn't been in touch with anyone since he'd fled the hospital. He'd been trying to escape, of course, possibly drink himself to death, but when he'd walked into that Muggle pub in London, his eye had landed squarely on one of the very people he'd never wanted to see again. What the hell Draco was doing there was anybody's guess. Probably exactly what George was; running away.

Their eyes met. Draco straightened up a bit, his guard going up as though expecting an attack, but none came. George simply stood there staring. So, Draco nodded, one single nod of acknowledgement. Some kind of greeting. Some kind of apology. Some kind of suggestion of a truce. The fuzzy numbness that had settled in George's head from his earlier pub crawling was shattered to bits. Draco Malfoy, the personification of all the horror they'd all experienced recently, was sitting here in the corner booth of a Muggle pub, having a drink like nothing had happened. But not quite like nothing had happened; he had the same haunted look in his eyes that George had. There were things he couldn't un-see, couldn't undo. George hated to admit it, but Draco was as changed as he was. Maybe the score was even now. Maybe.

So, he nodded back. Draco relaxed. George sat down and had a drink with him.

They talked for hours. George couldn't even remember most of what they'd said, but he did remember Draco talking about his family, his choices over the past few years, the corner he'd been backed into. There'd been a lot of justifying and excusing, and every word had only made George angry. Who had Draco lost? Both his parents were still alive, he'd had no siblings, and George had yet to hear anything resembling mourning for his dead auntie, the one George's own mother had killed. Draco had lost nothing, nothing that came close to what George had lost. But George masked his disdain, pretended it was righteous indignation on Draco's behalf. He told Draco he understood. He told Draco he forgave him.

Then he told Draco Fred was dead. And that was when everything changed. At least for a while.

Draco's remorse was palpable, heart wrenching. When he reached across the table and touched George's hand, George didn't flinch and pull away like he thought he should. It didn't feel weird. It felt good. George had been avoiding human contact for days. Apparently he'd been missing it. And this was a different Draco. The old Draco never would have reached out like this, literally or figuratively.

George hesitated so long, Draco was about to take his hand away when George finally decided to take his. He looked into Draco's eyes and said thank you. And he meant it.

George didn't remember the journey from the pub to the hotel. He didn't remember using a spell on the desk clerk to get him and Draco a room. He remembered almost everything that happened once they locked their door, though. He remembered savouring the press of their skin, of Draco's lips on him. He remembered Draco's need turning to uncertainty, concern for both their mental states. "We shouldn't do this," he'd said. "We're both kind of fucked up right now."

It was after Draco said this that George's body slipped into autopilot and his mind apparently went elsewhere.

"I just wanted to hurt him," he said, staring at the floor. "I wanted to take something from him. I wanted him to hurt like I did."

Fred still couldn't picture the actual act, not that he wanted to. He could imagine what George had felt, knowing that his twin was dead, the rage that must have been roiling inside him, the unquenchable desire to hurt someone or something. Fred could imagine that easily, but that was all he could do. He couldn't really know, and he preferred it that way. As strange and sad as it was to have this experience separating them like an unbridgeable chasm, Fred wouldn't have bridged it if he could.

"Did it make you feel any better?" he asked.

"No."

"Good."

"Good? What's that mean? I didn't enjoy it, so maybe I'm not a monster, is that it?"

"Sounds about right, yeah."

George shrugged. "We're all capable of horrible things, Fred. Draco knows that. Or, well … he used to. A different version of him knew it. He's not that person anymore. I can't look at him and see the old Draco, it even feels weird to call him Draco these days. I guess that's why I keep insisting that we can't abandon him. I feel sorry for this Draco."

Fred had asked a few times why George went to see Draco in the hospital after the incident. George's official explanation is that he wanted to see if his Memory Charm had worked properly. Fred thinks the guilt was eating him alive.

"I still don't understand how a Memory Charm could do that, though," said George. "His face when he saw me the first time after the incident … it was like he was seeing his saviour, like that night in the hotel hadn't happened at all. Has that ever happened before? Has a Memory Charm ever completely replaced an old memory with a new one?"

"I don't think it was the charm, George. I think Draco's mind split you in two on its own. I think it had to, to give him something good to hold onto, to keep him sane while you … did what you did to him. Has he told you what he'd do if he didn't have you now? Has he told you he'd have to kill himself? He told me that today."

George clenched his eyes shut. "Stop it."

"Stop what? You heard him. You were there."

"Stop it," George moaned. He was sitting. He didn't remember sitting, but he was grateful that he was. He lowered his face to his hands and dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

"I don't think you should see him anymore," said Fred.

"Fred, we've been over this –"

"No, I don't mean _we_ should stop seeing him. I just mean you. You should stop."

George raised his head and frowned at the wall opposite him. "What? Why?"

"You're only doing it to appease your own conscience. You don't actually give a shit about him."

"And you do?"

"After today, yeah, I think I do."

"Fred, what's gotten into you? What the hell happened down there today?"

"You know what happened. You were there. Remember?"

"No, I … Stop that. It was you. You know it was you."

"Fine, whatever. The point is he prefers me. He said so."

"He _what_?"

"He can tell us apart, George. He remembers, says I'm different every time. He knows when you're not you, even if you don't. He prefers me, George."

"George?" said a voice from behind. George's face snapped around and saw bright magenta in his periphery; Verity standing on the stairs.

"What?" he snapped. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I just came down. When did you get back?"

George wasn't sure. He glanced around, trying to remember, trying to differentiate between George's afternoon at the shop and Fred's afternoon with Draco. Which one was real? Where had he been? His mind worked furiously and he finally said, "'Bout ten minutes ago."

"Well, we need you upstairs. There's been a … thing."

"A _thing_?"

"An accident."

George sighed. "The vanishing powder again?"

"I told him his stomach is actually still there, but he won't stop panicking."

George shut his eyes. "I'll be up in a minute."

"Thanks. Oh, George? … Who were you talking to?"

George opened his eyes again and looked toward the label-less crates all around him, one of which he was seated on. His own magenta robes lay in a pile on another.

"Gotta be more careful," said Fred's voice. "People are starting to notice."

"No one," George said. "Just muttering to myself."

"Right," said Verity, and George thought he heard a hint of uncertainty in her voice. He heard her retreating a moment later and relaxed when he was sure she was gone. He glanced around the empty cellar again, Draco's words echoing in his head: _"… I'm never quite sure who you're going to be when you walk through the door."_

"Do you know who you'll be?" Fred asked. George glanced over at a corner where Fred was now standing, leaning his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed, a little smirk on his face. "Gotta pick one when you go up those stairs, Georgie."

George stood and stepped toward the crate where his robes lay. He picked them up and considered them for a moment. No, he didn't know. He never did anymore.

He pulled the robes on and glanced at Fred's corner. Fred was gone again. But not really. Never really. He turned and headed for the stairs, climbed them and stepped onto the shop's main floor, letting the chaos of the afternoon rush wash over him.

"George!" called Verity from the back of the shop. "Over here!"

It was always a little weird being referred to by his twin's name. But he turned and headed that way, putting on a big, confident smile.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there. This was written back in 2009, but this is 2017 me here, comin' at ya with some hot clarification! This is a major spoiler, so outta here if you haven't read the fic yet.  
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> If you noticed the discrepancy with the nurse at St. Mungo's who mistakenly thought Fred was still alive, yeah, that was a misdirect that I should have clarified better. Actually, it began as the absolute truth; the first draft of this fic was slightly less dark and entirely less mind-fucky. Fred was alive in the first draft.
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> BUT my dear, sweet beta at the time sent my fic back to me with a li'l note: she thought it would be better if Fred really was dead. That's actually where she'd thought the story was going in the first place. The truth is, I was hella salty about Fred's canon death (still am tbh) and just didn't want to think about it, so I left him alive at first. But after reading my beta's note, I realized she was right. That was where the story should have gone, no matter how much I didn't want it to. So, I changed it, and I'm so glad I did. It's a million times better than it would have been if I'd left it alone. Sometimes what a story needs isn't what the author wants. Writing can be totally self-indulgent, which is fine, but sometimes you gotta let go and do right by the story.
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> So anyway, the conversation "Fred" has with the nurse was left in as a way to reinforce the idea that Fred really was still alive. After all, my beta had thought he must really be dead before even finishing the story, so maybe others would too. Problem is I was on a deadline to finish this fic for an exchange, plus there's a good possibility that I was writing fics for other things at the same time, so I was probably less focused and more frazzled than I should have been. Things slipped by during the editing process because that's just how that goes sometimes, and I neglected to give that conversation the explanation it needed in order to make sense. 'Cause I forgot. My bad.
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> So, that's that. I hope you enjoyed the fic. Thank you for reading.


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